


as loops and knots, guide me

by unnohrian (cuddlebros)



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Bondage, F/F, Haikus are Involved, Lesbian Sex, Reader-Insert, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 15:43:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17790182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlebros/pseuds/unnohrian
Summary: After a long, long time away from her, you return to find your lover in the deep throes of writer's block. There's very little you won't do to help her out of it.





	as loops and knots, guide me

**Author's Note:**

> All my information about this specific piece of bondage comes from here: https://www.theduchy.com/extended-double-column/ . If you’re an expert (or just more experienced than me), and you see anything here that seems unsafe, bad practice, or just generally wrong, please let me know!

What you hadn’t expected from the war was just how much _work_ was involved behind the scenes. What civilians see of war is the shiny armour of troops leaving the cities; broken, bloody men dragging themselves and their comrades home in pieces; the triumphant sounding of horns. Troops see seas of spears and hails of arrows and the river of red that runs when you’re not _quite_ fast enough to dodge the sharp edge of either.

And then there were people like you; setting up tents for incoming soldiers, leading caravans with trailers of supplies through the land. Your work was not inherently dangerous, per se, but it called for a lot of hard graft and a commitment of weeks away from your home. Taking into account those long weeks with the supply caravan for Corrin’s army, you weren’t at all ashamed at how much you longed for your home, or how happy you were to return to the castle dorms and the room you shared with your girlfriend.

You missed her when you were away: missed falling asleep with her curled up in your arms, missed her waking you up in the middle of the night because something had clicked, and her words needed to find their way to paper. What you didn’t miss, however, was having to wake her up from one of her legendary naps.

The curtains of your room had obviously been shut for a long while—it feels like even the walls flinch away from the warm sunlight of the morning as you open them. In your bed, someone _does_ flinch, and groan as if in pain.

“‘Tama, I know that you just want to sleep, but you’re not going to find any inspiration under those blankets, honey.”

“Yet perhaps I shall / In some great dream of mine / Find words lost to me…”

You sigh. “Darling… do you think me a fool? Get up. I’m not above asking Reina to bring some of her famous stinky stew up here, you know.”

You see one of Mitama’s eyes crack open, half a star glaring at you. “Cruel propositions / Falling from so sweet a mouth / Fine. I will get up.”

“Thank the goddess.”

You would normally try and be more gentle with your love, but you were beginning to worry for her health: her soft skin looked so much duller than it had before you had left, her eyes seemed sunken and dark, and her voice was nowhere near as strong as normal.

“I have missed you, my muse. This place is much more bothersome without you by my side,” she says with a yawn, pushing herself up to lean against the wall at the head of your bed.

“People care about you, Mitama! Sometimes that means checking that you see the sun every now and then.”

“And yet the one care / I have so longed for these months / Was yours, yours alone…”

“Don’t talk sweet to me, _honey-tongue_. I’ll help you get ready, and then we’ll go down for breakfast together, and you can tell me all about what it is that had you so cocooned in our bedsheets, hm?”

You had some inkling—the two of you had been together for years now, and moments like these seemed to run on a cycle. Mitama is prone to wild swings of emotion, and often spends weeks on end in your shared quarters, allowing only you to see her. If inspiration strikes her, nothing—not the sky crumbling down, not the earth splitting apart before her—will stop her from reaching a scroll and brush pen to get her ideas down.

Your poet also went through periods of desperately needing inspiration. There were times she would sneak down into the kitchens to absorb the smells, the sights and the sounds. Sometimes she would wander for hours within the gardens, observing the changing of the seasons, how everything transitioned from blooming to dying to growing once more. And sometimes, she needed you in your shared bed, over her or under her or any way that she could get you.

At some point, she’ll tell you which of these she needs, which calls to her the strongest. For now, her cooperation was all you were asking for.

* * *

“Mitama,” you say, slowly and carefully, caution heavy in your voice, “what is this?”

“Rope,” she replies, like it’s normal for there to be metres of coiled red rope sitting on your bedsheets.

“Are you finally planning to kill me? The poems you write about my untimely death at your hands had better be brilliant. I’m talking the kind of poems that make nations weep, ‘Tama.”

“The way of the arts / From pen on canvas to rope / Is to share feeling!” When you look at her just as blankly as you were before, she sighs. “You said trying things could spark my inspiration, so, we’re trying things!”

“And just what is it that you think _we_ are going to be trying?”

“They will carve statues of our night together, my love. Sculptors will wonder / How to capture the softness / Of our touch, my love. You’re going to tie me up!”

Your stunned silence

“Do you not wish to?”

“I—I mean, you’re not a prisoner, Mitama. Why would you want me to—to bind you?”

Your love takes the rope in her hands, lithe fingers stringing a length out and then taking your hand to help you feel it. It’s so much softer than you had expected—not the rough jute that you used to secure supplies, nor the hard lengths of rope that you had so often used to keep up tents. This was almost silken, yet the braid still appeared thick and sturdy. Thinking about it, the harsh red against your lovers pale skin… a blush fights its way to your cheeks.

“I think it is something I may need to feel for the words to come to me, my darling. To be out of control, but completely safe in it. A new perspective.”

Slowly, you start to nod. “Okay. Okay. I think we can work with this. I… I know some knots, and we’ll go slow, but I think we can do this.”

The stars in Mitama’s eyes shine a little brighter, and she rushes forward to give you a thankful kiss. “You’re a perfect muse: For indulging me / On easy days, just as hard / My endless thanks, love.”

“Yes, well. Don’t thank me until it’s worked, ‘Tama.”

“I was raised to have one thing, cutie, and it was faith. I have a lot of it in you.”

* * *

When the next evening rolls around, and the two of you retire after dinner, you aren’t quite sure where to start. You had nervously asked Effie—who always seemed to be on jail duty—for a quick rundown of binding knots for if you ever needed them, and she had been only too happy to help. She recommended you practice on someone, and keep a blade nearby while you did, just in case, and then sent you on your way. But looking now at the length of rope, and then at your girlfriend so jovially lighting the lamps in your room, you feel woefully underprepared to be tying her up.

You tell her this, though. The two of you sit on the edge of your bed, wrinkling the newly made sheets, and you tell her that though you’re sure you want to try this, for her, you’re still scared. What if you hurt her? What if you hurt her, and it’s irreparable, and the guilt tears you apart?

“Sweet muse of mine! Effie said you should practice, hm? So practice we shall!”

* * *

Your first attempts at ropework are on top of Mitama’s robes, and lay strangely. She seems unconcerned throughout, yawning and nodding off occasionally, only vaguely responding when you ask to make sure that the knots are comfortable. But with practice, you manage to effectively bind her, leaving space enough between the ropes and her skin that you know that even if she wriggled, her blood could still rush under her skin.

Eventually, you’re confident enough to tell Mitama that tonight is the night. She perks up as soon as you tell her, looking more awake than she has all day. It may be the first time that week that she stays awake for a whole day.

“Lead me, darling muse / As loops and knots, guide me, for / I will follow you.”

Her gaze is earnest and hopeful, so you take a deep breath, take both of her hands in yours, and nod. “Sit on the ground for me, ‘Tama. Knees on the cushion, facing the chair. When you’re settled, you tell me our safeword, okay?” She nods. You let go of her hands.

It’s strange to see her move so gracefully when you’re so used to her lying around lazily or hurrying away from other people. You can almost see the life she could be leading; the calm, peaceful life of a priestess, only ever moving in measured steps and only speaking in poetry. Instead, she’s here, and she’s yours. Some would call you selfish for being glad of it. At the moment, you aren’t sure you care.

With grace just as measured as her steps, you watch as your lover falls to her knees, ass resting on her feet, hands on her thighs. She’s still wearing her robes, the sturdy red fabric protecting her knees just as the cushion does, and you admire how it fits over her as she sits.

“Safe word, Mitama.”

She shakes her head softly, as if coming out of a trance. Though she’s not facing you, you can still make out her voice as she complies. “Hex.”

“Good. Well done, princess.”

Mitama perks up a little from the praise, but she doesn’t move her head, even when you start making noise as you walk across the room behind her. The rope has been sitting on your shared dresser for the past week or so, a constant reminder of your promise, and it’s almost a relief to finally be making use of it.

When you drop to your knees behind her, a thought comes to you. “And if any words, or poems, or anything comes to you while we’re… playing, you can definitely speak them. I’m going to lead you today, but there aren’t too many restrictions. Not tonight.” She nods once again, and so you begin.

Gently, you guide her arms behind her back. The first loop wraps around her triceps, pulling them together slightly, but not pulling her shoulders back too much—you leave the bight a short ways from her arm. You can see why she went for the colour; against the white sleeves of her robes, it’s a vibrant contrast, but it’s still similar enough to the red of the rest of her garment that it looks almost like a sinful appropriation of something holy.

The next few wraps go just the same, passes of rope around her arms that have you grazing the material of her back every now and then. Her breath hitches almost every time—it’s easy to forget sometimes that she can be so sensitive.

“Still okay, my love?”

“Wonderful,” she breathes out. “On my knees, held by / Only safety and warmth, red / Wrapping me with love.”

You grin at that, though she can’t see it. Instead, you show your appreciation by continuing, wrapping the rope around once more, then pulling it through the bight with steady fingers. It feels so official, suddenly, and though you know what you’re doing, it takes you a moment to prepare yourself to continue. You pull the tail end of the rope through, and begin wrapping it around the rope that’s holding her arms together.

Like this, you can already picture how she'll look when you're done. Her shoulders are so square, one of her ponytails falling down her back for once. With quick fingers you move the other one to join it, trying to neaten up the picture you're making of her. You know she’s only going to look more beautiful as you continue. You tie off the knot, and sit back to admire your work. It’s only simple, only the beginning of what you now know ropework can look like, but you still feel a zing of pride. And not only pride; it’s also incredibly attractive to see the woman you love so happily held where you put her.

Mitama instinctively bows her head slightly, and the muscles in her back straighten with the action. Her posture leaves a lot to be desired on the average day, but here and now, it's beautiful. If you were the poet, you're sure you would have the words to describe the difference of the lines of her body, the subtle movement of muscles adjusting to new positions, the power of being in control of someone elses body in such an intimate way. But there is a reason Mitama is the one with the pen, and you relegate your thoughts to a pleased hum as you stand up.

"Thoughts?" you ask as you move to sit in your place on the sturdy chair in front of her.

A beat of silence plays out, as if her tongue can't force out the words she's thinking, but she gets them there. "It's new. Exciting. Quieting. I want to keep going."

Your love leans forward, her body working to keep her stable where her hands currently can’t, but she still manages to find her way between your legs with relative ease. It’s an incredible view, Mitama framed between your legs, starry eyes hooded and looking between your cunt and your eyes like she can’t wait to tuck in.

One of your feet hooks behind her back, and you pull her closer to you, until you can feel her ragged breaths on the wetness collecting on your lips. She’s patient, so wonderfully controlled, waiting for you to give her a sign to dig in. You leave her there for a while, so close to what she wants, before you give her the okay.

“You can taste, little poet.”

Mitama doesn’t hesitate. Her hands may be bound behind her, but tongue makes up for it, working double time. She knows you well by now, knows all the little things that get you going, but while she can’t use her fingers in the way you love, you can almost feel her thinking overtime.

She starts slow, trailing from your lower stomach down your mons with open, wet kisses until she reaches your clit. She keeps going, though, not stopping until she’s low enough to start flicking her tongue through your folds, decisive licks that have you bearing down to get closer to her. Your fingers thread through the silky hair on the top of her head, gently guiding her so close to you that her nose bumps up against your clit. You weren’t expecting a reaction, but you get a small moan when your fingernails scratch at her scalp.

“That’s interesting. You like a little roughness, princess?” She answers with another moan into you, and you laugh. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Her words are a whisper, so quiet you almost miss them, but you can feel them. “Pinpricks of white heat / From gentle hands, like kind blades / Warm me up some more…”

Her words are not empty. Through the haze of lust in your eyes, you can make out her fidgeting legs—if you had to bet, she was trying to manipulate her piercing for some sweet relief. Smart, as always.

The hand that isn’t in her hair trails down to your cunt, spreading it open so that when Mitama’s tongue returns, she finds it easier to stick it as far as it will go into you, fucking you with it as she bobs her head. You’re so used to having one of her hands, or both of them, on you or in you when you two have sex, it’s a little strange to have only the hot, wet sensation of her tongue. You think you like it.

Cheekily, she nudges your hand away, but before you can think to chide her for it, her tongue is there, flicking your clit as fast as she can, stealing the noise from your throat. Your head falls back, eyes shut as sensation and pleasure build up from your cunt, warmth travelling to the pit of your stomach to fill your extremities with nothing but _Mitama_.

You’re so close, breathless and groaning, entwining your ankles behind her back just to pull her closer into you. She doesn’t let up, taking your clit into her mouth to suck on it, only to tease it again with a slow, broad lick up and down just to temper your pleasure.

“You’re a little tease, ‘Tama!”

This time, even though she leans back, she punctuates each line of her haiku with a lick to your clit. “I only seek to / Heighten the pleasure of the / One whom I adore.”

“Sweet,” you say, drily. “But the longer it takes me to come, little poet, the longer you’ll be on your knees.”

“A fair point, made well. I shall not leave my lady wanting.”

She keeps her word. With a vigour she applies to very few things other than you, she uses the point of her tongue to work you back into the heat of moments before. You use your feet a bit more forcefully this time, keeping her head securely against you so that there’s no _way_ she’ll get away with edging you again. Thankfully, she doesn’t try; she lets her tongue explore you with determination, probing as far as she can. This time, when your fingers come to play with your clit, she doesn’t try and stop you, and soon the air leaves your chest in a silent scream as you come, hard and long on her tongue.

It takes a little while after you come for your fingers to release from her hair, and for your tense legs to release her head, but eventually the two of you untangle yourselves. On shaky legs, you drop down behind her, kissing trails across her shoulders as you undo the ropes behind her.

Once she’s massaged her arms a little, the two of you shift around together on the floor until Mitama is happily resting her face in the side of your neck, and you have one arm holding her close.

“I saw your legs shifting earlier, honey. You want me to return the favour?”

“Not tonight, my love. I’ve words to write; grand poems to compose! Once my knees have rested, perhaps.”

The two of you sit in contented silence for a while, until a question brings itself to mind. “Would you want to do this again, ‘Tama?”

She hums a little, a happy noise that you feel rumble in her chest. “Today, I needed the thoughts and feelings of submission. Perhaps some other time I will need to know of domination. Would you let me try, sweet muse?”

There is nothing you wouldn’t do for her, you think..

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was requested by the requester of the first Mitama fic and an anon on my tumblr quite a while back, and so I hope it satisfies!
> 
> Woah! Later than literally anything else I've ever had requested. I only started working on the draft of this again after a friend reminded me of how long it had been. I'm so sorry for the big stretch of time I've been gone, but life does what it does and to me, a lot of the time, that's just Stop Me From Writing.
> 
> This also turned into less smut and more relationship stuff, which I hope is okay.
> 
> As always, if you see any mistakes, or have any comments, feel free to let me know in either the comments or at cuddlebros.tumblr.com! I'm not currently taking requests, and I haven't posted much lately, but I'm still around. Like some kind of cockroach.


End file.
